


Accidents and Elephants

by shutterbug



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Caretaking, Crack, Drugs, Friendship, Gen, Hallucinations, Medicine, Silly, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21619513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutterbug/pseuds/shutterbug
Summary: Jackson learns that Reid took his headache medicine. Except it wasn't headache medicine.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	Accidents and Elephants

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ripper Street Writing Club (November 2019) using the prompts: (1) someone besides Jackson gets very high; (2) red; and (3) hats.

“Jackson!” 

Jackson--the beckoned himself--heard Reid’s shouts from the bottom of the stairs. Like two rapid shots fired. Jackson took it upon himself to provide some balance to the world and countered Reid’s urgency with a slow jaunt up the stairs. 

“Where _is_ that wretched man?” Reid’s voice punctuated the air with ever-rising frustration. “I need Jackson!” 

Jackson stopped midway up the steps for a puff on his cigarette, listening to Reid’s grumbles and huffs. Sometimes he pushed the bounds of Reid’s tolerance to cure his own bouts of boredom, making very precise—and downright scientific, if he said so himself—mental notes: the first, the cause of Reid’s frustration; the second, how far Jackson had to push and needle and poke until Reid snapped; and the third, the manner of that snapping.

“Ooooh,” Jackson chuckle-murmured all to himself when a _thump_ from above vibrated clear down the bannister. “My, my, Reid. What bee made its buzzy little way into your bonnet?” 

Grinning to himself, Jackson moseyed up the rest of the stairs and sauntered into Reid’s office. 

He had to peer down to find the man himself, who was sprawled face-down on the floor like a starfish. 

“Reid,” Jackson said with a smile. “Hard day?”

Reid raised his head. “I fell.” His forehead reunited with the floor. 

Jackson’s smile broadened. “I can see that.” 

“I fell down,” Reid mumbled, then patted the floor. “Onto the floor.” 

“Well, how ‘bout you pick yourself up and dust yourself off, there, Inspector?” Anchoring himself, he offered his hand to Reid.

It took him a moment—presumably, Jackson guessed, to prepare to make such an effort—but, finally, Reid reached up and made a frantic swipe for his hand. 

And missed. 

As Reid flopped back down onto the floor, Jackson was torn between amusement and concern. Amusement leapt to an early lead, as another chuckle bubbled out of him. “And maybe lay off the whiskey,” he added. Some advice coming from his mouth, of all the mouths in London, but he couldn’t resist the tease. 

Concern pulled ahead when Reid moaned and pulled a few fast breaths—with some particles of dirt, most like—down his throat. 

“Perhaps I will…” Reid trailed off and spread his arms wide, like he were trying to embrace the floor. “Stay here.” 

Jackson crouched down beside him. 

“And I am not drunk,” Reid said. 

“Not drunk, huh? You look pretty drunk to me. And I’d know.” Jackson patted Reid’s back. “You see, I’m an expert.” 

Reid didn’t even bother to respond. Instead, he turned his head and laid his cheek on the dusty wood. “I had a headache. So I went to find you, the _doctor_ , but you were not…” He closed his eyes. “You were not in your laboratory. But I found…”

Before Reid could articulate exactly what he found, realization struck Jackson like a whip. In his mind, he saw the vial he had pushed to the back of the counter, just beneath the windowsill. Homemade capsules for his own personal, uh, recreation. He’d labeled it ‘HEADACHES’ so it could escape notice. 

Well. Now, seein’ as it hadn’t escaped notice so much as _drew_ it, this was what he’d call a colossal God damned blunder, even for _him_. 

“Reid?” Jackson said, laying a hand on his friend. “Reid, how many did you take?” 

“Two?” 

“Okay.” 

Okay, two. Two was okay. Two wouldn’t be bad. Reid had size on his side. Two wouldn’t be so bad. 

Probably. 

“Okay, Reid, you need to tell me if you’ve seen any visions.” 

“Visions?” 

“Hallucinations, yeah.” 

“Oh!” Reid said, as if he had just learned a new word. “Visions. Hall-oo-shin...Hall-oo-sations. Hall-oosinshuns.” He squinted up at Jackson. “That is rather difficult to say.” 

Jackson rolled his eyes and mumbled, “When you’re flyin’ high as a kite, it is.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Reid added, oblivious to Jackson’s comment. “It’s gone.” 

For one throat-clenching moment, Jackson thought Reid meant the capsules. The _capsules_ were gone. But he batted away the fear; even a mind-altered Reid would say ‘they’ not ‘it,’ precise horse’s ass that he was. 

All the same, ‘it’ remained unclear, so he asked, “What’s gone?” 

“My headache.” 

Relief loosened his throat and allowed air to pass unimpeded into his body. He nodded. “Good.” No hallucinations, then. “Good.” 

“And the elephant that was on top of my desk. That’s gone, too.” 

“Oh, Jesus,” Jackson whispered, his hand still flat between Reid’s shoulder blades. He raised his head and shouted, “Drake!”

Reid squirmed out from under Jackson’s hand and rolled onto his back. His voice assumed an airy, dreamlike quality as he mused, “It was red, for some reason. The elephant. I have never seen a red elephant. A red elephant, can you _believe_?” With a sudden burst of energy, Reid pushed himself up and gathered a fistful of Jackson’s sleeve. “Tell me, Jackson, have you ever seen a red elephant?” 

Jackson couldn’t help his smile—his mouth spread wide, eyebrows raised in surprise as much as amusement. Concern, however, still lurked in the shadows of his mind. “I ain’t never seen _any_ elephants, Reid, and neither have you. Come on.” Jackson slipped his arm under Reid’s, around his friend’s back, and hauled him to his feet. It took effort—a _Herculean_ effort, he would later say—but he stumbled with Reid for a few clumsy, heavy steps and eased him into a chair.

While Reid slumped in the chair, Jackson set his hands on his hips and breathed hard. Another moment later, Drake barreled into the room. Drake’s attention bounced from Jackson to Reid, who stayed seated despite almost constant peeks at his desk. 

“What on earth, Jackson?” 

“Drake.” Jackson’s chest still heaved. “Good. A bucket. Fetch one, won’t you?” 

“Fetch one yourself. I’m not your nurse.” 

Jackson would have been happy to test Drake’s patience if Reid hadn’t just peered wide-eyed at Drake like he was a werewolf. “Listen,” he said—the direct approach. “He needs to puke up his insides, as soon as he can. I need to keep a watch on him. _You_ need to find a bucket.” 

Drake aimed a hard stare at him and backed him towards the wall. “Jackson, what in the blazin’ hell did you do?”

“Nothin’!” Jackson rushed past the fact that _that_ wasn’t entirely true and pointed at Reid. “He went nosin’ around, found some pills, and took ‘em. Like an idiot.” 

“Pills, no doubt, that _you_ —”

“Bennet.” 

Both of them clapped their mouths shut and spun to face Reid, who squinted now with curiosity at Drake, like he was studying a critical piece of evidence.

“Mister Reid?” Drake stepped forward. 

“Your hat.” Reid pointed at Drake’s head. 

“What of it, sir?” 

“It’s become a balloon,” Reid said, matter-of-fact. A second later, he erupted into the most un-Reid-like giggles Jackson had ever heard.

Jackson slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from joining Reid’s fit of laughter. Even from across the room, Jackson heard Drake’s impatient intake of breath. Jackson leaned against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other, and lit another cigarette with the crisp snap of a match. “So where are we on that bucket, Benito?” 

A minute later, when Drake returned, he dropped the bucket at Reid’s feet with a _clang_. “Here’s your bucket,” he said, then turned for the door. “I assume a skilled doctor like yourself needs no further help.” 

Jackson waved him away and leaned down next to Reid, who had closed his eyes and let his head fall. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take it from here.” 

It was the least he could do, considerin’ this mess was his fault. Not that he’d ever admit it.


End file.
